


Nearer to Thee

by jeansbeens



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Drowning, F/M, Homophobia, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Titanic!Vale, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeansbeens/pseuds/jeansbeens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1912 on the icy Atlantic. A colored violinist, a novice wireless telegraphist, and an optimistic mechanic are charged with providing an unforgettable voyage for the passengers of the RMS Titanic.<br/>The ship sets out to make history - but who's fortunate enough to share their story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Construction Was His Bond

March 17th, 1912  
9:58 AM  
Belfast, Ireland  
54.5973° N, 5.9301° W

“I have to say, it’s not as large as I imagined.”  
Earl Harlan took off his hat, fanning himself with the sweat-smoked material as he stood, effortlessly, on the precipice of the ship’s open-air terrace. The Irish builders poured into the loading gate like ants, filing one after another in a rhythmic fashion. Earl watched them move, unimpressed, and picked at the loose threads of his cap. When Commodore Palmer had promised an assignment worthy of lifelong recognition and status, he hadn’t expected to wear his oil-stained slacks every day.  
“Not as large as you imagined?”  
“No, Sir.” Unfazed by the 175 foot drop, Earl straddled the metal rim of the ship, swinging his legs as he laid out the blueprints from knee to knee. The wind threatened to tear the paper from his grasp, but he anchored it with bony elbows. He poured over the structural drawings, the ink smudged after many reviews by the dedicated youngster. “I know it’s not my place, but when you say ‘ _Titanic,_ ’ I expect something incredible. She’s structurally sound, but the competition’ll surpass her size in five, six years.”  
Thomas Andrews eyed the plans, frightened they would billow away in the careless youth’s possession, but the lead ship designer was too comfortable hugging the wall to intervene. “We’re the most anticipated voyage since the earth separated from the seas!”  
“Have you heard of Noah?”  
Andrews sighed and looked up into the wispy Irish skies. It was easier than looking down. “Are we on target for the seventh?”  
“No, Sir,” Earl said. “We still need to run through seakeeping. We can’t know the hull’s tolerance levels until--”  
“‘--until she breaks the whitecaps.’ Yes, Boy, we’ve heard it. But we have to stay on schedule. Can’t we test her en route to Southampton?”  
Earl gnawed on his chapped bottom lip. “I wouldn’t advise it, Sir.”  
“Then it’s perfect.” Marcus emerged from the stairwell, his knuckles tight on both rails. He doubled over as bile rose in his throat, but he gathered himself and made his way to Andrews in one piece. His dark hair fluttered behind the lenses of his Luxottica sunglasses, the young man taking them off and hanging them in the collar of his cashmere sweater. He looked Earl over, studying the local builder like a barnacle in need of removal. “Father, are we really allowing rats on our beautiful ship?”  
Earl forced himself to maintain formalities, climbing back onto the narrow walkway with the agility of a cat. He found great satisfaction in their stance, watching the two men whimper and stagger on the physical product of their superfluous wealth. He smiled and handed the plans over to Marcus with more force than necessary. “Only in the rat’s nest, Sir.”  
Andrews put a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, afraid their lead mechanic would be pushed to the stainless steel platform a quarter mile below. “Marcus, why don’t you go downstairs and walk through the first class quarters? There’s paintings that still need room assignments.”  
Marcus glared at Earl, but the attempt at intimidation only seemed to add coal to Earl’s flaming confidence. The mechanic watched as the spoiled heir climbed down the stairs, his silk ascot billowing in the harsh winds.  
Andrews pinched the bridge of his nose. “Earl. The crew is boarding on the second. If we can’t dock by the first, can you promise me the second?”  
“I never make promises, Mr. Andrews,” he said, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between crusty lips. He cupped his blistered hands around the match, managing to light the cigarette on the first try out of sheer luck. “But I’ll try my damndest.”  
The lead ship designer let out an exasperated groan, turning around and following his son down into the first class quarters. Earl laughed, propping himself against a tall cane-shaped funnel and relishing in the gentle rocking of the sea. He couldn’t stop himself from singing sea shanties to the skies, watching as his breath mingled with the smoke slowly flowing from the pipe he leaned against.  
“ _Short long short, short long long, tapping chant, seaman’s song…_ ”  
“ _We’ll be here when things go wrong!_ ”  
Earl jumped at the cheerful voice, hitting his head on the exhaust funnell. He rolled his eyes, anchoring his cigarette between his teeth and jumping up into the mouth of the exhaust. There, climbing up the tiny space…  
“ _Cashin’ paychecks all year long!_ ”  
“Roger, the _hell_ did I tell you about playing around in these things?”  
“But they’re the perfect size!” The seven-year-old grinned up at Earl, his entire face covered in soot. His arms and legs were pressed precariously against the walls of the pipe, the boy staying just out of reach. Earl climbed in as far as he could without falling to the coal ovens, only managing to snatch Roger’s hat from his head. Jesus, even his hair was black.  
“Get up here. Now.”  
The young boy beamed despite his three missing teeth, slowly shimmying his way up along the copper walls. Every time he smiled, soot fell away from the grooves of his dimples and the wrinkles around his eyes. “I told you I like disappearin’.”  
“Yes, and you’re very good at it.” He grabbed Roger by the suspenders, yanking him up the angled tube. “But I don’t want you ‘disappearin’’ when the coals start lighting.” Earl deposited the boy onto the wooden floor, slapping his sides and shoulders in a vain attempt to spare him from the soot. No amount of patting or scrubbing would ever wash all the exhaust from his clothes. Sighing in defeat, he picked up the small boy and rubbed his face with a handkerchief. “Tell me you didn’t lose your gloves again.”  
“I don’t need ‘em, Sir Mechanic Sir!”  
He smirked despite himself. “You make Christmas presents too easy. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Earl walked down the stairwell with grace, ignoring the handrails and balancing himself with the rocking of the sea. It had been a long three years, but the metal beams he balanced on every day were solidified by Irish steel and British platinum. No bolt had been screwed without Earl’s say-so, and each step he took along the ship’s deck declared his trust towards his craftsmanship. Forget words - his construction was his bond.  
He couldn’t wait to see the look on Cecil’s face.


	2. Extras Aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wireless telegraphist and a germaphobic violinist walk onto a dock.

April 9th, 1912  
6:23 AM  
Southampton Harbor, England  
50.9097° N, 1.4044° W

“Excuse me… Excuse me…”  
Worn suitcases collided with bruised knees. Loud sneezes landed on strangers’ necks. Despite the chill of the morning, every crewmember was sweating against his future bunkmate, shuffling through the crowd towards the tiny loading dock. Carlos Davilo popped his collar up around his neck, trying to avoid as many illnesses as possible. He’d read that airborne organisms prospered on ships, flourishing in sea-soaked wood and sheets thin enough to give you papercuts. The man adjusted his gloves, ducked his head, and pushed his way through the sea of white, counting his breaths.  
_One, two, three, four, five, six, through the mouth… One, two three, four, five, six, through the mouth…_  
“Excuse me!”  
His concentration was broken as a boot knocked his black case from his hand. The leather, perfectly preserved despite its many trips across the Americas, skid away along the cobbled road. Carlos cut through the tide of passengers, knocking several groggy cooks aside in the process. He picked it up with trembling hands, inspecting the case.  
_No._  
His fingers traced the gaping gash that had appeared across the black material, peeling away like an open wound. Frowning, he stood up, holding the small case closer to his chest as he searched through the crowd. He could fix it in his room -- the second he found the man who’d knocked him aside, he’d demand proper compensation and --  
“Excuse me!”  
Carlos spotted him. The man was young, pale, and muttering to himself in the roar of hurried feet. The sleeves were ill-fitting, covering his hands as he paged through a small book filled with lines and dots. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in looking to the road ahead, colliding with men left and right as he poured over the symbols. Scowling, Carlos dove after the careless youth, eyes narrowing.  
“Carlos.” A white man with a narrow face and two large sacks of luggage grabbed Carlos by the shoulder. The young musician glanced up at him, tearing his himself away from the firm grip.  
“Mr. Hartley, that man tore my--”  
“It’s alright, Carlos. It’s alright.”  
“But Mr. Hartley--”  
“There are plenty of cases in the music room. Let him be. We’re due on the breakfast deck at 8 o’clock.” Mr. Hartley’s voice was filled with warning. He was the only white man who’d acknowledged Carlos the entire morning, and Carlos knew better than to disrespect his employer. Sighing, he followed the conductor.  
“He may have broken the neck,” Carlos murmured, keeping the instrument pressed against his torso as they finally made it to the loading strip.  
Mr. Hartley smiled kindly, following Carlos up the slanted walkway as it rocked with the Atlantic. “Worry about your neck, Carlos. We have plenty of extras aboard.”  
Carlos frowned, following orders and disappearing through the entryway. He needed to wash his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Carlos - a germaphobic violinist on a ship where 2,000 people have to share a bathtub. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Chapters will get longer as we meet more characters - most "extras" are canon historical figures anyhow.  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1. I'll try to update this biweekly, but we'll see how it goes.  
> Tumblr is doctor-chelley if you have any questions or suggestions - this should be fun.


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